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1942-04-20 - Daemonites and Destiny
The Eagle's Nest - 1942 Elijah Snow adjusts the starched collar of his SS Uniform as he and Marc Slayton approach the final check point on the way up the Eagle's Nest. Their papers, supplied by the American OSS have so far got them through the other guards so in theory at least this next check point should provide no more difficulty. "God, can't wait to get out of this thing," Elijah gripes as they make their way up the narrow mountain track in their German staff car. "So, word is the man himself is having a dinner up here, so once we're in we want to move quick and quiet get the spear and get out. No extra noise if we can help it," he explains as he takes off his cap and runs a hand through his ivory hair. He wasn't exactly nervous, but he had a hell of a time tracking this thing, and with their luck the last time they went after the spear he wanted to be sure nothing would go wrong. So, when the lights of the car illuminate the check point, the guards slumped over, some missing limbs and in one case a head, he can't help but sigh "Typical." Captain Marc Slayton sits beside Elijah, also clad in an SS soldier's uniform. Hell, it isn't like the man doesn't basically look like the Aryan ideal as it stands. This might be the kind of operation that Elijah would prefer to do solo, but the OSS Resources he used came with the price tag of having an OSS operative along with him. Thankfully, Marc is very, very good at what he does. As Elijah presents his brief instructions, Marc simply nods once. Then the sight of the dead guards at the checkpoint becomes apparent and he frowns, "Well, at least they seem to be killing the right side so far. Guess we're going to have to improvise, though." He halts the car, and move to the trunk, revealing a veritable arsenal of German-made weaponry. He slings a shiny (well, more subdued really) Sturmgewehr across his back, joining the Luger he has holstered at his side. "Got a MP 40 in here if you want it." Slayton comments as he grabs a few more magazines of ammo and secures them on his person, along with a couple of grenades. Snow gets out of the car and tosses his uniform hat in the back seat before he moves around the rear of the car. "If this is one of our sides ops, I don't like what that says about our side's ability to coordinate," he says dryly as he takes the MP 40 and a few spare clips. The clips are stuffed in his pockets and he pulls back the slide on the MP 40 chambering a round. "Alright, lead the way," he nods towards the house itself, the ground between there and the checkpoint is clear, but the front doors is open a crack and light spills out on the flagstone walkway. Slayton moves next to a couple of the bodies, not touching them, but getting a closer look. He notes the improbably clean cuts with a frown, but unslings his Sturmgewehr and beckons Elijah forward, whispering, "I...-might- know what we're dealing with. Or who, anyway. If I'm right, we should be fine. Lucky even." He pauses, "If I'm -not-...this is going to get really ugly." And without further adieu, Marc leads the way further into the complex, eyes and ears alert for potential dangers as they go. "Oh?" Snow says as he moves along behind Slayton. He's no soldier but he knows how to move quietly enough. "Well don't keep me in suspense." Just then something moves on the far side of the door blocking out the light for a moment before the door swings open and five men emerge one, the leader, says . Elijah ducks down in the shadow of one of the parked vehicles. Yep. It sounded like their luck was about as good as it had been in Rome with Savage. A dark form leaps acrobatically out of the shadows afforded by the twilight, diving through the group in what initially seems to be a suicide charge. Except this form is too well trained for that. The woman has a sword out, and it glints in the fading light as it slashes through the air... and she tumbles, but the tumble is perfectly executed. A foot lashes out, sweeping one of the five men to his back, the fist without a blade grabs the shirtfront of a second man, sending him flying-- ironically, towards Elijah and Marc-- as the slicing blade neatly decapitates a third of the men. And that was on her entry. The other two barely have time to let out a noise of startlement before that blade sweeps around, one of them losing the hand he has draw a handgun with, the other, in the same slash, being taken across the front, spewing blood and gore. The handless man has his neck quickly snapped as he begins to scream. < I don't have /time/ for your /timeline/, > the woman snaps in German to the dying forms, leaning forward, the gleaming blade none-the-worse for the wear-- not even blood staining it, no matter what it had just done-- as she places it to the throat of the man she had knocked down, the groups leader. Marc shifts back, pushing Elijah a bit as that body heads their way. It lands harmlessly a couple of feet away, and Marc frowns -very- deeply as a word he recognizes all-too-well crops up in that dialogue. Still, he hasn't gotten a fully clear look at the attacker, and though the voice sounds a bit...off...there's only one (presently) dark-haired swordswoman running around killing Daemonites that he knows of, so he gives Elijah a brief "circle around to the objective" hand signal and steps out of the shadows, gun in hand but not trained on the attacker, and calling out in a language Elijah's likely never heard spoken before (though his travels may have allowed him to come across written fragments), <> Elijah watches with a degree of morbid fascination as the what appear to him as Nazi's are dispatched. Whoever the warrior woman was, she certainly knew how to move. Catching Slayton's gesture he nods getting back to the business at hand, he slips off into the shadows, though pauses long enough to catch the unfamiliar words passing between Slayton and the newcomer. The Daemonite leader grimaces as the blade is pressed to his throat, he'd seen it's mate at work before and knew it was not to be trifled with. < If I tell you, will you let me live? > he asks in German, playing for time before Slayton speaks. Recognition flashes in the Daemonite's eyes. he says in accented Kheran. Nemesis reaches out with ehr empathy-- she should have had it 'on', but sometimes she preferred to fight 'blind'. It helped keep the pain and fear of the hosts the Daemonites from overwhelming her, and moreso from their lackeys or the half-breeds that made up the Brotherhood. But between her old mentor's name being called to her in her native tongue... and the Daemonite's cry for help... she can not longer afford this blindness. She slams the blade down through the Daemonite's throat, hissing a curse in Kheran before kicking up, leaping away from the sources of emotion behind her with a telekinetic-enhanced push. she replies in Kheran. Marc comments succinctly, There's something almost approaching amusement in Marc's voice, but his emotions are laced with wariness. Still, he hasn't brought the gun up, and the one thing his emotions -aren't- carrying that Charis probably feels all-too-often when faced with those of Kherubim blood is any degree of actual hatred or anger. There's no personal stake in Charis "betrayal" to him. It happened two thousand years before he was born. Incidentally? He has his father's eyes. The Daemonite dies choking on its own blood and Elijah moves on. Whatever is going on here was definitely strange, and as curious as he was about it, he had a job to do. He slips into the darkness and makes his way around to a side entrance of the house and once the lock is frozen and shattered ducks inside hunting the Spear. The woman they call Nemesis gives the half-breed Kheran a once-over. she switches back to German, to not let Marc's companion continue to be left out of the conversation, if he can overhear-- and feeling the man's curiosity. Marc shrugs a shoulder, He too has switched to German. Of course, his comment of "letting" her go implies that he thinks he might be able to take her. Even while his hesitance to jump into the fight makes it clear he doesn't think that's a sure bet. Still, his father was one of the great Warlords of Khera, and if he's grown up around Majestros and Yohn Kohl and their ilk...he's likely no slouch, though she can probably accurately guess that he didn't inherit the powers of a Warlord from S'lyton. Nemesis is as still as a statue for a few moments while she considers, weighing the options. < I will help S'lyton's son, > she says finally, her tone aloof. she says carefully, more for the benefit of Snow. < I am here to kill them. > Blunt, but not exactly surprising for a Kheran to be so on this type of matter. < I will assist you in retrieving your spear-- but I was never here. > She pauses. And with that, Marc begins to move swiftly in the direction Elijah took off. His wariness does not disappear by any stretch, even if it's laced with a touch of relief that the mission may continue. When he catches up to Mr. Snow, he pauses beside him and notes, "The good news is I got as a temporary ally. The bad news is this is gonna get a whole lot messier than we intended." He pauses a moment, looking intently at Elijah. "You get around a lot Snow. You ever hear of something called "The Coda?" Snow circling back towards the entrance when he's found. He nods "I believe you about the mess. There are a group of men with the Spear. They're in a room down that corridor," he nods the way he had been coming from "And they are doing /something/ with some of the German officers, some sort of interrogation or mind control by the look of it. Anyhow, looks like we're going to have to confront them directly." The question about the Coda catches him off-guard for a second before he nods again. "Ancient warrior society, rumoured to be all women," he pauses. "Ah, that would explain the woman with the sword wouldn't it. Though the question is how do you know about them?" "It is neither," the woman says from behind them. "They are possessing the remaining officers. I have waited too long--" she doesn't allow it to show on her face, but the fear and pain from those the Daemonites are forcing themselves into is near-overwhelming. She shoots down the hallway towards the room in question, throwing herself headlong into the room. Coda warriors aren't exactly the 'hold back and wait' sorts. Marc grins more than a little mischievously, "I get around too. Maybe I'll tell you about it over a few beers after all this is done. For now, lemme just tell you you're about to get a real show." He lifts the assault rifle and nods to Elijah. "She'll take point, whether we like it or n-...." Marc shrugs, "See?" And with that, he moves to charge into the room after her, bringing up the assault rifle to unload a burst into the nearest daemonite-possessed Nazi. There is a faint smirk by Snow. "Sounds like a plan-" then the woman is bursting through the door. Seems it is time to act. Elijah follows close on Slayton's heels as he come through the door, covering the right side. A soldier lifts a pistol and Elijah pumps a neat three round burst into his chest, and because the woman mentioned possession, he lifts a hand and throws a blast of cold at him as insurance. "Any advice out about our friends here?" he shouts to Slayton and the woman as he ducks low avoiding a burst of fire from one of the Daemonites. The room is a mess, there are five high ranking German officers bound to chairs, and a group of ten Daemonites gathered around them. Their leader had a general by the head when Nemesis bursts in and with inhuman speed turns and growls at the interruption. "Kill the prisoners, destroy the intruders!" he bellows. The Daemonites, clad in the skin of common soldiers open up lifting MP 40s to unleash a hail of bullets towards the intruders focusing on Nemesis, their personal Boogey-woman above the two men. If they knew who Marc was, that might be a different story, thankfully most Daemonites can't sense Kherubim right off. "Headshots will keep 'em down." Marc does indeed send a burst of fire into the noggin of a charging Daemonite-possessed soldier. "Anything less and they might get back up." He adds after a moment, "Flash freeze and shatter will work, too." Diving and dancing with her blade-- a blade more frightening than even Zealot's own, as this blade sheers through flesh, bone, and metal as easily as air-- Nemesis cuts her way through possessed and prisoner alike, sparing none in her way. Her movements are swift, smooth, and thoroughly deadly; graceful and acrobatic... a leg sweep here, dodging one set of bullets, a few more glancing off her durable skin with barely a scratch. Blood splatters from the bodies as she moves among them, taking the fight /to/ them... literally bringing a knife to a gunfight. In her case, this is a slaughter-- it's not fair to the men holding the guns. Her blade slashes to decapitate or destroy the braincase for those she brings down. She doesn't speak, scream, or cry out with battlelust... she is a shadow moving among the possessed, death incarnate. Blood spatters across her face, grim with purpose. The blue lines on her harness and legs glow slightly as another round of bullets hit her and bounce off-- A force field. The lines are somehow powering a small force field around the woman that is helping keep fir from being shot. "Right!" Elijah shouts over the gunfire. He hits the deck and rolls to cover as bullets rip through the furniture and the men the Daemonites had meant to possess are chewed to pieces by the flying lead. The bullets however are less effective against Nemesis deflected by her shield. Still a few of them keep at it, blasting away at her and at Marc. The distraction allows Elijah to rise from cover and grasp the Spear which lay forgotten on a table in the midst of the battle. Or well almost forgotten as one of the Daemonites seeing him take it, leaps across the room to drive him into the ground bashing his head against a sofa in the process. Dazed the adventurer is stunned as the Daemonite rips at his hand to re-claim the relic. RATATAT! Thankfully, Marc's quite accurate with that assault rifle, as the Daemonite that's all but slavering over Elijah gets its' skull perforated. Another falls to a thrown knife that lodges right between its' eyes, and Captain Slayton becomes quite the engine of death and destruction, practically dancing from cover-to-cover amidst the gunfire and not-at-all bashful about getting in close and swiping at their foes with a knife or giving them a burst at close range. It's a different kind of grace from the swordswoman who's hacking bad guys to pieces with impunity, but not much less deadly. It's all going quite well until a "clink clink clink" sound marks a grenade being rolled from the hand of a near-death daemonite to his feet. "Shit! COVER!" He bellows, reaching down to swiftly scoop up the explosive orb and hurl it towards the nearest window before diving behind...well a couch...not really going to give overmuch protection when that thing detonates only half-way to said window. The blade that can cut through anything in creation slashes outward and through the following things in a single swipe: *The barrel of a sputtering machine pistol held by a Daemonite possessed Nazi soldier *The forearm of another Daemonite-possessed soldier that is reaching for her *A ricocheting bullet *A grenade that is flying through midair towards the window. The grenade sheers in two, but Nemesis is left wide open. One of the Daemonites-- in a bleeding, but not quite dead yet body-- reaches forward with the one arm her has still attached and grabs the woman by the back of her head. Her head tilts back and she lets out a snarl of pain-- but Slayton, at least, would be able to guess the pain was not physical in the least... rather, mental, as the Kheran fought a battle of a different type. Snow rolls the Deamonite off of him and sitting up watches as the Kheran and the Kheran hybrid perform their dance of death. However when Nemesis picks up an unwanted partner in that dance, Snow acts. He focuses his attention on the Daemonite who grips her and rips the heat from him freezing flesh and bone. The grenade fizzles thanks to Nemesis' slash, and Marc rolls back to his feet, firing two quick bursts into the skulls of two separate Daemonite soldiers as they charge him. The bad guys' numbers are rapidly dwindling, though so long as a single Daemonite remains, it's not over. A lesson that Marc very nearly embodies as a wounded Daemonite leaps at him. However, before he can establish the link, Marc places the barrel of his luger beneath the "man's" chin and fires. The word he says is entirely impolite and sounds like it's in that odd language he was speaking earlier. Nemesis tilts a nod to Snow before returning to slashing through the remaining Daemonites, leaving the room splattered with gore and the floor covered in dead bodies. She glances at the spear, and nods to Slayton. "You have what you came for. As do I." Elijah nods and stands up, tucking the spear into the belt of his uniform. "We do," he says and if there was any question of their time here being short the sound of a klaxton sounds in the distance. "We should be moving now," he says to Slayton. "Are you coming with us?" he asks Nemesis. "No, she's not." Marc answers for her. He glances towards Nemesis, considering a few moments, then simply nods his head, once, "Thanks for the assist. Good luck." He nods to Elijah, "Still got the keys for the car, let's get out of here and get that thing in the fancy box they gave us." They were told not to handle it for long. Something about a corrupting effect or somesuch. Nemesis shakes her head once. "No, I am not." She looks to Slayton. "Recall our agreement. I was never here." A pause, and then, "Good luck." And the Coda warrior disappears out the door and into the darkness. Elijah watches Nemesis and remarks "Guess I won't be asking about who she is," he says before glancing down at the Spear. It didn't feel like it was corrupting him, but then the most insidious things never did. "Yes," he says looking up from the spear and starting for the door. "Lets get this away, and if we survive our escape, beers and answers." "I'll tell you what I can. Figure you've earned that much." Slayton grins, "But first we've gotta get this thing out of Germany. Let's get a move on." And with that, he hefts the rifle, slaps in a new magazine (just in case) and heads for the door at a brisk pace. Category:Historical Log